


rose between two thorns

by goreallegore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6707053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But you’re an excellent Knight so not much was lost,” Harry states going back to the bush and his struggle to pluck a rose. There is a passing moment of silence and then fingertips are brushing the hem of his loose shirt, a wash of warmth spreading over his skin, “We’re going to war, Harry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	rose between two thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niallator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niallator/gifts).



> when your life is a rainy cloud you need a little sunshine and mine is taylor and i love her so much so this is for her
> 
> p.s. don't ask me what time period this is set in cause who knows

Niall tugs on the lapels of Harry’s jacket, grabbing the edges and pulling them down until the boy gives in, and crouches beside him, ultimately falling on his bum; he lets the table cloth drape over them blocking their sight of the stage. 

 

“Da’s married,” Niall notes, slender fingers aligning the heels of his dress shoes together as he’s sat on the floor. Harry shifts next to him until he has his legs stretched out poking out of the draped table, his leg warm against Niall’s own. A moment of silence passes by, which is mostly between them as the hall itself is brimming with people, seats filled and one’s that aren’t are meant to be by guests twirling carelessly, joyfully, on the dance floor. The harpist is plucking each string with her dainty fingers that are painted a seafoam green nail varnish. 

 

Harry hooks a hand around his ankle rubbing the protruding bone there, and says, “You’re going to be a Knight.” He skirts around the elephant in the room, his perfectly trimmed nails now scratching the ankle that he’s seem to be fascinated with, “You’re going to serve the King.”

 

When you’re second in line in the kingdom you are left with one too many options, often times not the option you’d like to have. Niall’s second to Greg in line for being the Duke that his father currently holds the position of, the King's right hand in layman’s term, and since Greg is already being trained in the etiquettes of being the future Duke, Niall’s left to dispose himself to frivolous learning as he desires; he’s chosen to join the Order of Knights. Harry’s second in birth, too. To his luck, or not depends how you look at it, he’s in line to be King of the kingdom. Their countries were neighbors of sorts thanks to the small body of water that distinctly separates them yet keeps them close by, enough to be proper allies, until they merged together to be under the same monarchy. 

 

The soft hum of harp segues into light drums and the town singer Bobby adores starts singing, the man lives near the south bend where the river ends its course, and his dulcet voice attracted enough attention that the town carnival even ended up giving him his own show hour. Bobby took Niall and Harry there two summers ago, Maura was still around then, and everything simpler. Familiar.

 

“You know what won’t change?” Harry pipes up.

 

Niall turns to face him, but Harry’s looking down at his thighs, the grey slacks hugging his thin legs, and then as if he’d planned he looks up grinning showing off his dimples, “Us!”   
  


Niall rolls his eyes, and Harry shoves into his shoulder resting his head on it after, “Weddings are dumb, anyway.”   
  


They are, they’re long and tiring and you see people you haven’t in ages and for some reason they’re wildly shocked that you’ve grown. Something that is normal and natural. “For our wedding,” Niall starts, but Harry is already jerking up eyes blown wide dancing with something akin to excitement. “We should get married in a barn,” he suggests.

 

“With cows,” Niall tacks on.

 

“And chickens, oh, and let's not forget the goats. Goats are lovely,” Harry counts on his fingers, his curls frizzy from the humidity. Definitely not a June wedding.

 

Niall blinks, “And ducks? They can get the rings.”

 

Harry grins, wide and toothy, and says, “Gem would have a proper strop about not having pigs,” Pauses to bring his hand to Niall’s and taps their knuckles together. “When I’m older I’ll marry you.” If Bobby asked what Niall would do when he’s older he’d say serve the king like himself, be knighted and protect England from foreign invaders. But right now tucked under the more than sturdy wooden table that is hiding them everyone, he says, “and I’d marry you.” Leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

  
  


\--

The horse gallops, his head jerking back making Harry tightens his grips on the reigns, coming to an abrupt halt in front a barrier of barbed wire, it's wrapped around the huge tree trunks. Harry runs a hand down the horses’ mane, calming him down, “S fine, win. We’re just treading country borders.”

 

Winifred huffs scrapping his hooves on the dirt, neighing before lowering his head and letting Harry jump off. He falls on his feet, wiping dust off his pant just around the knees, and looks on ahead. There is a thinly veiled stream behind the mass of bushes, and from where he's standing he can see how clear the water is and immediately he feels the dryness of his mouth, his parched tongue. With careful steps he slips under the wires, rolling towards the stream, Winnie follows him stopping short of the barbed wire and looks at him.

 

Harry brushes the twigs that have latched onto his poncho, “Be right back, love.” He scratches under his chin, grinning, and then turns towards the river. He pads softly down the grassy field towards the bank, sprigs of grass giving way to rubble and pebbles that ordinarily line the steady flow of water. He kneels down cupping his hands and dipping them into the frigid water bringing it to his mouth and taking a healthy gulp. He does so, twice, until his thirst is quenched. 

 

Harry plucks out the small bottle tucked into the belt of his pants and tugs it out filling it with water for his journey back, gets up to his feet to make his way back to Winifred when he first hears the rustling. Carefully, he approaches his Palfrey with soundless steps. The horse is busy grazing away at the feeble patch of grass at his disposal, but something is off and there is an air of alarm surrounding him. Once he’s rolled under the wire and is busying himself to climb the horse he hears it again. The rustling bombarded with haste steps, the clank of armor not unfamiliar to his ears. 

 

With a strong grip he pulls on the reins and is readying to hoist himself up on the four-legged companion of his when he hears a yell and his own name muddled among it, “ _ Watch out! _ ”

 

Solid weight aligns to his back and he hears a thunk of an object colliding with another, and promptly falling to the ground. Harry doesn’t turn around to see who it is, but instead focuses on the hitched breath the stranger is taking, and then he speaks again voice thick of an accent of Northerners, “They’ve circled the perimeter, Your Highness.”

 

“What do you suggest we do?” Harry asks, voice barely above a whisper, hands still clutching the leather reins. There is muffled crackling of dried leaves on the other side, and Harry can see past the horse saddle two men hiding behind the tree bark. A steady push into his back earns his attention, and the stranger says, “If you command I shall take care of these trespassers, Your Highness.”   
  


“Please do,” Harry orders, and it feels odd strictly because he’s never had to worry a hair with his safety in his own terrain, but there have been rumors. Word of their neighbours coming out of dormancy and the struggle of power looming over the Asai that are next door to them has fizzled around town. His father believes it’s just that, rumblings. 

 

There’s a sharp sound of a sword scraping the scabbard, and it’s not loud, definitely not enough to erupt the hostile brigands to jump out of the bushes to ambush the Knight - Harry figures he is one noticing his choice of words - swearing to protect him. Thankfully, the chase after the well-protected fella’ and Harry gets the chance to clamber on Winnie’s back, his feet fitting into the stirrup, and he’s positioning himself when he sees how heavily outnumbered the lad is. So, with a loud neigh purring out of Winifred, the horse abandoning his usual gait, dashes towards the mass of men huddling the Knight who’s infact adorning the Royal Crest on his linden shield. 

 

The size of the horse and intimidates them, but it is the knight catching the splitting moment of disruption that truly does them in. He’s able to knock out from what seems to be the leader and that is enough threat for the other to disperse over to the other side of the barbed wire. Collecting the man the knight had knocked in a hurry and cursing out towards the stream. Harry watches until they disappear one by one, the sun blocking his vision for the rest of their run, and turns back to thank the man in the metal-clad uniform. 

 

“Thank you, I am duly grateful for your service. If you could kindly give me your name I could inform my father of your bravery and make sure he rewards you for it,” Harry iterates.

 

“There shall be no need to do so, Sire,” the Knight states, humbly. His voice now muffled under his bassinet helmet that is a visor of sorts covering most of his face leaving just his eyes to be seen. There’s a tinge of curiosity firing under Harry’s skin looking at the knight. There is something so memorable about his eyes that he’s almost sure he’s seen them before. 

 

“That won’t do. You just saved my life. Surely, you’d like something? Perhaps for your family? For your children or wife?” Harry persist, not ready to give in just yet. The armor he’s wearing clacks when he moves towards the trail that led up to the stream, Winifred following in his step as Harry loosely helms him to, and they come to stop in front of a Destrier. The beautiful white haired creature ducking down as the Knight hoists himself up into the saddle. 

“Perhaps give me the pleasure of being in your company on our journey back to the Castle?” He asks, and it isn’t anything, but humble and Harry’s more delighted than he should be. With a gentle nod they set towards the castle. 

 

\--

 

The next couple of days are swamped with Harry attending to princely duties which mainly involve appeasing the court, sitting in on town meetings when chance be, and brushing up his french for the French Duke to be impressed with when he arrives with his daughter. Now that he’s twenty he’s well past the age of remaining stag so his mother and father have taken upon themselves to fret over potential candidates for marriage. 

 

Of course, Harry’s deemed to be stroppy and spoiled since he’s rejected every choice of theirs. They’d even succumbed to letting him make a decision on his own, marrying a lady of his desire, but he’s yet to be intrigued by anyone. 

 

There’s a flurry of handshakes and then he’s exiting the main chambers to retire to his quarters. His room is a short walk from the main hall buildings, but he prefers the scenic route one where he can walk parallel to the veranda which is usually lighted with fairy lights and has the fountain on. There isn’t anyone out there, not really, except then he sees the same white-haired silver-mane Destrier strolling towards the fountain for a drink of water, and Harry is confused why a horse has been left unattended. The thought last for merely a second when he sees a man with bright yellow hair shuffling after him, finger wagging as if he’s scolding his young one’s, and Harry’s thoroughly amused. 

 

He stops in his step and moves to lean on one of the pillars looking at the man struggle to rein in the horse towards the doors that lead out of the veranda to the stables, the horse proving to be resilient and happily sipping away at the water. The man tries once more, but gives up when the horses spits a mouthful of water into his face. An unhindered cackle slips Harry’s lips and the man jerks away looking back immediately and Harry’s suddenly all too aware that he’s been stalking the lad for the past couple of minutes.

 

From where he’s standing tree hanging low with it’s branches is shadowing the better part of the man’s face, but even from the minimal distance between them, couple feet at most, he can see the bright blue of his eyes. 

 

“Your Highness!’ he exclaims, ducking his head. Harry crosses the tiled floor towards him until he’s standing right at the head of the horse, the animal cooing at the touch of Harry’s fingers, “Having trouble here, sir?”   
  


The Knight clears his throat, “James, Your Highness.”

 

“Right, James, then. I see your friend here is being awfully cruel to you,” and instinctively the young knight wipes his face from the back of his hand. His cotton sleeves dampened by the water. He’s fairly young Harry can tell, a youthfulness in his gait that is absent in that of older one’s. “You can stand up you know? I don’t bite.”

 

“Yes,” he says, polite as ever, and gets up. The tips of his ears are a burnt red and a soft pink to his cheeks, and there is something so - Harry can’t quite pick himself apart to figure out who he is.

 

“You’re new, yeah?” 

 

“Finished training just last week. Was sent over by the Duke to serve you.”   
  


“You mean my father?” Harry corrects him. He doesn’t have a personal knight. There isn’t a need for one when he’s just a prince. His father’s the king. If anything he needs the protection. 

 

He clears his throat again, the words fluid and rich thanks to his voice, “No, you sir. I’ve been assigned to tail you should you decide to roam about outside of Castle walls.”   
  


That explains why he was present when Harry was ambushed the other day. 

 

“Could’ve just told me, y’know? Instead of scaring me the other day,” Harry teases. He can see a hint of smile tugging on his face, it’s a shame he’s not looking up at Harry. He’d very much like to see James smile. 

 

“Perhaps next time?”

 

“Next time it is,” Harry promises.

 

\--

 

Anne runs her spindly fingers through Harry’s curls, undoing the knots as they come along, and Harry hums to the tune of the song she’d been humming earlier on. Since Gemma’s wedding the past so much has changed, and he still thinks of her to be in the next room, but he knows it is just him for now. 

 

“Father asked for a knight to guard, did you hear?” he asks, flipping the page of the book he’d nicked off of his traveller mate, it had been in his holdall with it’s frayed edges and Harry had plucked it for safekeeping. Until next time he’d said placing a chaste kiss to corner of Harry’s mouth. 

 

“Mhm,” She hums, slipping the needle through another loop, “Bobby had been ecstatic when he’d heard. Couldn’t stop boasting in his last letter saying how it is a new breed of Knight.”

 

Harry nods, turning the page, but stopping short at the first line and jerking up to look at ANne’s face. She’s perpetually calm, no trace of distress in sight, and then it dawns on him.  _ The eyes _ . He clambers out of the bed discarding the blanket he’d set on himself onto the ground and pulling on his hoes, Anne still crocheting away. 

Harry careens out of her chamber towards the veranda only to find it empty, and that is when he find one of the aid’s to the queen, Prim if he remembers correctly, and walks up to her. 

 

“Primrose, have you seen a young knight trotting around the castle? About as tall as I am? Fair hair and skin?” he asks, palms slick with sweat. Unconsciously he wipes them down on his cotton pants, the fabric cool against his skin. She narrows her eyes a bit thinking, and then says, “Believe he was heading for supper, Your Highness. Would you like me to call him?”

 

“No that won’t be necessary, I’ll go see him myself.”

 

He’s already trailing down the hall when he hears her say, “But your highness that’s no place for the prince to wander to!”

 

The kitchen is easy to find because Anne had fallen sick when Harry had been five, that is where he’d spent most of his time, climbing stools, rearranging the spice cabinets, and eating copious amounts of sugary delights in the pantry with a friend by his side. With his favorite friend. 

 

He knocks on the massive wooden doors, a stout man opening them and beckoning him in once he recognizes who he is, “Is there something you needed, Your Highness? We could’ve sent someone to you.”   
  


Harry flails his hands around trying to gather the words stuck in his throat, managing out a feeble, “No.” But then a loud cackle pierces through his own thoughts, and the limbs feel heavy as if the realization of their weight has just set in. Languid steps guide him to the sound of the laugh, and a part of him feels awful for leaving the cook who’d opened the door answer-less, but for now he has much more important matters to address. He’ll be sure to apologize later on.

 

There’s a large table set off to the side of the kitchen, a burnished wooden table about twice as long as the one in the dining hall he usually has his meals with him mum, and on the far end is the knight seated with his elbows rubbing the top. The young man with dark hair pauses his conversation with him when he sees Harry, standing on his feet and then bowing, “Your Highness.”   
  


The knight to his left looks between them and then promptly does the same, but Harry’s too fixated on his broad shoulder and grown face, beginnings of a stubble shadowing his jaw. He can see the way his fingernails are cut short and his skin nipped around the edges, and he’s sure his palms must be calloused from working and -

 

“Niall,” he breathes out in relief, clambering over the bench and wrapping his arms around the other man’s built. The room is pin-drop silent, Harry can’t be arsed. 

 

\--

“Can you get off me you oaf I’m having trouble breathing,” Niall complains, trying to undo himself from Harry’s grasps, but that only prompts him to hold him tighter. Niall grunts one last time before finally giving in and laying limp on the cushioned bed. Technically, Niall isn’t allowed in the Prince’s chambers. But those rules are for workers, not friends. 

 

“I am making up for 10 years of hugs so most definitely not,” Harry explains, leaning into Niall’s touch now that he’s successfully managed to lure him in with his buoyant curls. Though they’ve been unwinding more and more since he started trying to grow his hair. He pushes his weight on his elbows and gets up to look at Niall, “Why’d you lie?”

 

“Err,” Niall pauses, biting down on his bottom lip. Harry doesn’t let him finish, climbs on him until their legs are tangled, “Doesn’t matter, I suppose.”   
  


“I am starting to think that’s not true because ever since you’ve found you’ve been trying to crush me under your unbearing weight,” Niall grins. Harry rolls his eyes because of course teasing him was a prerequisite to their friendship so were many other things. They’re older now. And Niall’s back. 

 

“The weight of muscles, you say,” Harry flexes his arms, and Niall pokes his bicep. “Nah, mate, think it’s just fat.” That earns him a swat on the head. 

 

“Tell me everything, tell me who knighted you? Tell me all the places you went to? All the people you met?” Harry puts his head on Niall’s chest reaching down and slotting their fingers together, and whispers softly, “All the women you met.”   
  


“None worth remembering,” Niall answers, and Harry can hear the frenzy of his heart in his chest. 

 

“Good,” he replies. 

 

\--

 

“Greg is going to take Da’s place soon enough,” Niall says one evening in late May. They are sat out in the garden that is towards the back of the castle shying from the thick cemented walls. Harry tussles with the rose bush, carefully reaching for the bud that hasn’t opened yet without pricking himself, “You happy for him then?”   
  


“Think he’s going to be a shit Duke, but yeah. He needs this after everything,” Harry stops short and turns to face him, but Niall’s looking ahead of him at the dipping sun behind the grand walls. “You could’ve easily taken his place, Bobby would’ve let you.”

 

Niall shrugs, laying down on his back, and Harry wants to reach over trace the bridge of nose, and count the freckles of on his cheeks that are now more apparent cause of the summer heat. Harry thinks he knows why he didn’t find any of the ladies his mother wanted him to court appealed to him. 

 

“But you’re an excellent Knight so not much was lost,” Harry states going back to the bush and his struggle to pluck a rose. There is a passing moment of silence and then fingertips are brushing the hem of his loose shirt, a wash of warmth spreading over his skin, “We’re going to war, Harry.”

 

He stiffens at that, aware and yet hopelessly avoiding the subject. Prince’s don’t get knights assigned to them, not one’s from the battalion division at least, not ones that proved to succeed any test and training they’ve been put through. 

 

A warmer hand slips under his shirt solid against his skin, “The northern brigade has already started descending south and to other parts of the Kingdom. Desmond believes that we’re weak nearer to home than our artillery bases set up near the Irish Isles or even north in Galashiels.”

 

There’s an unopened bud peeking behind a fully bloomed flower, hastily he reaches forward and grabs it, tearing it from the bush with a muffled, “ _ ow _ .”

 

Niall crawls beside him, gently drawing the bleeding thumb towards himself, and presses his mouth to where Harry was pricked. He sucks on the spot, splodge of blood on his pink lips,  and Harry can’t stop thinking about the war, and people dying, and how his father hasn’t returned from the south hall since early March. Niall stops briefly to glance up and Harry tugs his hand back only to cup Niall’s jaw instead, “The manor is being decorated for the summer ball. I’m meant to choose the next queen then.”

 

“I’m well aware,” Niall says, eyes staring at Harry imploringly. He feels the low soughing of the wind through the stock of flower emblazoned bushes, and there is a knot in his stomach tightening further under Niall’s unnerving gaze. Soon enough a steady hand is reaching for his own jaw tilting it forward until there's barely any distance between them, and it’s as if time’s splitting half into the time it’s meant to be tomorrow and the time time it is today. 

 

He closes his eyes because he’s done this before, but never when his core is reverberating to the sound of another person’s punched breaths. Harry wishes the ball wasn’t necessary because right now it doesn’t seem to be. 

 

“I won’t kiss you, Harry,” Niall says, each word bouncing off of Harry. There is firmness in his voice and there’s gnawing in Harry’s chest. 

 

\--

 

“A barn wedding,” Harry says, “With cows, and chickens, and goats.”

 

Niall steers Winifred towards the stream where they’d first met, all over again, and stops short of the barbed wire like Harry had. His fingers are tightly winded around Niall’s stomach as he held on to him for balance and they’re far away from the castle that no one ought to come look for them, not when they’re here no. 

 

Niall gets off the horse first offering his hand to Harry next which he gladly takes falling to his feet and following in Niall’s step. They slip under the barbed wire towards the stream and Niall takes off his shirt, walking into the stream, and there is a  brown freckle just right of the base of his neck, another near his left shoulder, it’s like someone took a blank canvas and flicked some paint on it. And that’s it. That’s all it needed.

 

He dips under the water until his hair is smattered to his forehead and then he’s looking back at Harry, grinning a blinding smile to rival the sun hanging bright behind him, and there could be little to nothing done to tame the way Harry feels. 

 

“Gonna come in or keep staring at me?”

 

“Quite like the view. Think I’m going to have to need a couple more minutes,” but Niall’s already walking out, his bare feet arching around the pebbles and rocks, and then Harry can feel a hand on the small of his back reeling him in until his chest is flush to Niall’s, “What about the pigs? Won’t Gem be upset?”   
  


“Think we can make do without listening to one of her requests,” Harry retorts. He reaches to tuck an errant curl behind his ear, but Niall pushes his hand away to do so. 

 

“Marry me,” Harry asks, pleads if the break in his voice is anything to go by.

 

“Okay.”

 

\--

 

With much trouble, a couple of days later, they end up finding an abandoned barn, one without cows, chicken, or any goats. They roam about until they find that the hay could be stacked to stand on, to pretend along many pretenses, the one about the upcoming war, the one about Des’s disapproval, the one where all of this, all their love is diluted to friendship and nothing more.

 

Niall draws Harry towards to the end of the barn where there is a massive window looking out to the field, cornstalks dried up, abandoned by the previous famer. 

 

“Would you like vows?” Niall asks, hands fiddling with Harry’s fingers, pressing and gripping as if the nervousness had just set in.

 

Harry chuckles, pulling him in and rubbing his earlobe, he’d mention the lack of a priest or their family, but that wouldn’t go over considering all so why spoil the moment, “Of course, need to do it proper after all.”

 

“Alright,” Niall grins, “Then I vow to take you in sickness and health. In the -” and he stops. Clears his throat and starts again, “I vow that I will talk to the councilmen about their festering crops, and the church ladies about the children, the gardener about the trimming of the bushes.”

 

Harry smiles at that, let's niall continue, “I vow to bring you the chicken broth you adore when you’re poorly. To take winifred on long walks that he enjoys when you’re tired from Princely duties.”

 

“What else?” Niall bites down on his lower lip.

 

“What about until protecting me and all?” Harry laughs, hooking his forefinger around Niall’s. “Right, I promise to protect you until my last breath,” and then he’s pulling closer, “To protect you through everything.” Harry knows what he means, but he doesn’t say it loud.

 

“I’ve only known to love you Harry, and I’ll do so for as long as I can, until you’ll have me, until you’ve grown frail with weak limbs and gray hair and are cursing away at our grandkids. I’ll love you, all parts.”   
  


Niall’s filled with love, the kind that makes you want to share some of it, to be part of it, and Harry’s part of all of it, even the one’s tucked away. There isn’t a doubt in Harry’s mind that he is. 

 

“I, now, pronounce us Husband and Husband,” Harry grins, a smooth press of lips to his and his knees almost buckle at that. At the soft touch he’s been unknowingly chasing after until now. Niall kisses him until he’s left gasping for air, funny is he’s been like that since he first met him. Harry’s loved Niall since as long as he remembers. And despite previous dispositions they end up having a june wedding anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> comments / kudos! come please talk to me at niallohmighty.tumblr.com


End file.
